


[arse worship]

by threadoflife



Series: sherlock ficlets [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, PWP, Smut, Voyeurism, frotting against the bed, john likes to watch, sherlock likes to display himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: Sherlock's humping the bed while fondling his own behind as John watches..... this is it. this is all.





	[arse worship]

**Author's Note:**

> jfldksjklds no comment
> 
> http://wssh-watson.tumblr.com/post/158819685527/wssh-watson-hips-pull-backslowslowcant-up

Hips pull back—slow—slow—cant up, just the slightest bit: the fabric d r a g s over his cock, nice enough but not as nice as when he’s pushing forward.

He stays like that for a bit. Hips kicked back, the small of his back rising upward to his backside, on lewd display with him sprawled on his front across the bed, legs wide apart, face buried in the pillow, back an inward arch. It makes him feel decadent; makes him feel filthy, the knowledge of how his arse is raised just so, invitingly, in contrast to the flatness of the rest of his body.

He has a bit of a plush arse, as John likes to tell him. Just enough fat to grip; just enough fat so the cheeks jiggle when spanked or fucked.

Just pretty enough to arrest John completely where he sits on a chair opposite to the bed on which Sherlock is gradually humping his brain cells away.

He knows his cheeks peel apart just a bit, like this. He can feel it happen, the way the skin first opens up at the top where it begins sticking together—slightly, not too much, just enough to draw attention to the shadowed crease beneath.

He likes helping it along.

Loosening his fist in the pillow, he reaches back and grips his left arse cheek to just hold it. Feeling the supple, generous flesh, he can’t resist giving himself a squeeze, and then he’s already kneading it with a groan.

From across the room, John’s breathing grows heavier.

And then one hand isn’t enough.

Soon he has both his cheeks in his hands, and the moment he grips them tight and pries them away from one another is the one that makes him lose him breath like he’s kicked in the gut. He knows what it looks like, now, what _he_ looks like: the pale, sensitive strip of skin in between exposed with his hole at the centre of it, tight with a darkish taint, contracting visibly under a few crinkly hairs that become curiously soft when John laps his tongue over his hole obsessively.

God, he’s such a slut. He’s such a slut and he loves it.

He’s so completely submerged in his sluttiness–visualising the rise of his arse behind closed eyes, the round swell of it, his hands completely spanning each cheek and spreading them apart, his pornographic sounds (“uh-uhhhnn”) accompanying his stuttered humps forwards–that he doesn’t realise the sensation of heat, at first.

But it’s there: between his arse, right on the exposed pucker of his clenching hole (which his fingers try so hard to reach, just a bit, just–). He notices it the next time he squeezes his cheeks tight together, as in between, there’s a curious impression of dampness, of warmth, that wasn’t there before. When he whines and pulls them apart again–revelling in that dirty moment when sticky skin peels apart–there it is. Heat. Heat, and breath, bit humid, like–

“Ohmygod,” Sherlock moans, incoherently, “oh–oooohh,” thickly, rumbling, an uncoordinated mess of vowels groaned into the pillow that’s wet beneath his face.

–like John behind him, kneeling before the bed with his face right between Sherlock’s arse cheeks, breathing hot and fast against it.


End file.
